


Lionheart

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Depression, F/M, Happy Ending, Inquisitor Being an Asshole, Slow Burn, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-03 04:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6597001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Female Cullen is married off to Hanar, an Avvar chief, in order to secure passage through the Frostback Basin.  She struggles to come to grips with her new life as she become pregnant far earlier than expected, and struggles with the depression of being tossed aside as a pawn. </p>
<p>Slowly, she and Hanar find their way together, and Cullen finds a home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/15543.html?thread=61654967#t61654967
> 
> For this prompt on the kink meme. I know, not exactly my usual fare.

"I hope the Lady favors us with children."

Cullen stares blankly at the furs on the ground. She is sore, and tired, and the very thought that she'll soon be stuck in the rut of bearing children feels like it will break her. She turns her face to her pillow, jolting a little at an uncertain touch to her arm.

"Cullen?" His voice is as uncertain as his touch.

"What is it you need?" she asks dully. This is what she's become. Nothing more than a wife, some handy thing for children. She's seen so many worn out women with constantly crying children, and that life makes her wonder if she could escape the Frostbacks alone. Not likely.

"You are unhappy, Lionheart."

She thinks of Trevelyan's cold face, Cassandra's horror, the realization that she's just been ousted and tossed away.

"My people sold me to you, you expect me to be happy?" She asks, not moving. According to the marriage rites, which she said as fast as she could, she's bound to him for 10 years. He had seemed somewhat hurt at how quickly she'd spoken, how tight her knots were, and she hadn't cared. At least he had been kind, and while the sex was a bit painful from how afraid she was, she hadn't bled. 

The hand jerks away from her skin, and she slowly rolls over to stare at the roof of the tent.

His name is Hanar Star-Forger, so named for fashioning a chunk of starmetal into a sword, and he is massive. She thinks, somewhat miserably, that if the Bull had been there he would have fought Hanar to keep her from being taken in the ritual theft. The Iron Bull does not care for Trevelyan. Her loss will be the straw that breaks his back- he and the Chargers will go. She will miss them.

Hanar wears his hair in impressive braids, a chocolate brown, and his face is surprisingly unscarred. The rest of him is even more wrecked than she is, including a massive ropy scar that cuts diagonal across his back. His hands are kind, though, and his voice soft. He rules with a firm hand, but he is not cruel. He is a blacksmith, not a warrior, and he is not a cold man.

She tells herself this to keep from breaking down.

He's watching her, a spark of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Your consent..."

"I consented," she says flatly. "I will do my duty to my people, Hanar." She will never see her family again, she will not survive this, Mia will never know where she's gone. "I will bear your children." Ten years of child bearing. Ten _years_. Maybe he will give her time to recover between pregnancies, so she won't wear out.

He looks devastated, and she doesn't understand. "What is it?"

"You speak of children as if they are a burden."

"They are," she says flatly. "It is my body that'll be stretched and destroyed, my shield and sword taken from me. I imagine the first one won't be long in coming. Trevelyan picked poorly for you, I'll be a terrible mother."

She rolls onto her side, facing him. He's gutted, and she feels a twinge of guilt. He deserved someone better.

"You think you won't fight? That I would take your weapons, your being?" He seems horrified, but she's tired of the obvious charade.

"Where is my shield?" She counters, her heart aching. "It's hardly here. Where is my sword, my armor? Everything has been taken from me, and you wonder at my sorrow?"

"I had them taken to be sharpened and seen to," he says helplessly. "They are yours, they always will be. You are a warrior first, I know this. Your Inquisitor did not pick you for me, I asked for you. Why did you not refuse, if this hurts you so?"

She sits up, ignoring the leathers he gave her, instead of decent clothes. "And what choice did I have? None. I was given my orders, told to do my duty, and here I am. Ten years with a people who think my people are an object of scorn. No family, no home, no knowledge of you and yours. You say you'll let me be a warrior, but how do you expect me to fight if I'm carrying some child for you?"

Hanar is silent, his face a rictus of agony. She breathes hard, fighting fearful tears.

"Children are important to the hold," he says softly, looking at the ground. "It is a joy for a young one soon into a match. But you do not want them- I will not force you to bear any when you cannot bear even my touch. I have clearly hurt you."

"My mother died birthing my fourth sibling. The child died as well," Cullen says, laying back down. "I do not suffer under your hands, I can bear it for my people. How many do you expect of me? One a year, I imagine?"

Hanar makes a noise as if she has punched him, and she turns tired eyes on him. To her surprise, his eyes seem wet. "You think so little of me? To- to breed you as if an animal? Perhaps three, perhaps, ever, in my lifetime. You are a warrior, strong and beautiful and worthy of the highest regard, and I would have you at my side, not- not trapped into a life of pain and suffering."

She stares at him, beyond shocked. He wipes away an escaped tear from his face, looking down.

"I had hoped," he says softly, "that we might be brought closer together by a young one."

"I know nothing of small children," she says bluntly. "Only those from perhaps only five on, and them I can only guard. I will bear you children, but they will be _your_ children. I'm only the vessel they're made in."

Hanar looks stricken, running his hand through his hair. "Children should be made from love, from respect if nothing else."

"Children are a duty, little more." Cullen takes to staring at the ceiling again. "I respect you. I will carry your children, and when my time is up I will go home, and find somewhere that will take me again. My family maybe."

Hanar frowns. "Maybe?"

"It has been more than 10 years since I last saw them," she says, her heart aching. "I don't know if they would take me back, they may be too hurt by my absence. My sister wrote, some, but I heard little from the others. I went to train as a Templar when I was young."

"You intend this with our children as well?" Hanar asks softly. "To simply leave?"

"Not ours," she says. "Yours."

oOo

Hanar does not sleep with her again, rarely even touches her, but it does not matter. She's sick within four weeks, and after four more they go to the augur who agrees that she is certainly pregnant.

The Hold celebrates. She does not.

The revelry goes around her, perhaps less enthusiastic than usual given the mother-to-be sits dead eyed and picks at her food. Hanar sits quiet beside her, fetching whatever she quietly mentions, and when she can take no more they slip away quietly.

She makes it to their little house before the tears come.

"I'm sorry," he says, falling to his knees. "I'm sorry, I know this is not what you want."

"I feel filthy," she says, her voice cracking. "I was good all my life, slept with none, and this is the price I pay. Maker, _why_ couldn't this wait?" She buries her face in her hands, as if that will somehow help her to stop sobbing. Hanar leads her to the bed she'd demanded he make, sits her down. It's the only part of her life like home, and her heart breaks. She leans into him, hand going to clutch her belly, and presses her face to his shoulder.

"Why do you feel wrong?" He asks softly.

"I had never slept with a man," she says, when the hiccuping sobs subside. "Never. I thought myself above such an unclean thing."

"How is this unclean?" Hanar asks, pained. "Tis pleasant, tis an intimate act."

"Just so," Cullen says, wiping at her eyes. "I should need no man, when I have Andraste and the Maker. I should have want for no things, least of all pleasure when it is unimportant to my survival. I'm sorry for seeming so weak." She sits up, pulling away from him. He's obviously agonized, afraid. "What is it?"

"I fear for your life."

She pauses, turns to him. "From the Hold?"

"No. From you. I fear this is too much, that it hurts you too deeply. I do not want you to die." He makes an aborted gesture, as if reaching for her, and she stares. She sees him more clearly, now, the sheer terror on his face. He truly is afraid, afraid that she'll die and he'll be powerless to stop it. His hands shake, and after a moment she reaches out, cautiously taking one in hers.

"I won't kill myself," she says, low and firm. "While I may hurt, I will do my duty. Ten years, Hanar. 9 years, 10 months to go. I will live til then."

"Our children," he says, helpless. "Will you die after those ten years? Will I hear word of you dead?"

"No," she says, heart clenching. "Your children won't have to hear of their bearers death so young. When I leave the youngest likely won't remember me, and the eldest will be old enough to manage. Mine died at 10, and while I was sad there was nothing I could do. Don't you believe in all things being far from permanent? I will be too."

Hanar lowers his head, his great shoulders slumping inwards. "It pains me," he says softly, "that you think they will not love you."

"I am a hard woman to love," she says, squeezing his hand. "I know this. I shouldn't be bothered by the truth."

Fat, heavy tears roll down Hanar's cheeks, splashing to the ground, and she leans against him in an attempt to comfort him.

"Do you hate me so much?" he whispers. She sighs.

"I don't hate you. But I don't love you."

He presses his face into his hands, shaking. "Please," he says, muffled. "Please, I cannot sleep alone tonight."

So they sleep together for the first time since their wedding night. Hanar curls around her, and Cullen pretends she doesn't feel him crying.

oOo

Cullen is neither trusted nor liked by most of the Hold. They try to include her, but everything is foreign, is blasphemy, is horrifying. They consort with demons, and she fears their abomination mages more than anything. She avoids them at all costs, refuses their healing, and will only take elfroot for the nausea. There are spells to ease her aches and the sickness, but never will she let one of those vile things put their hands on her.

The younger women ignore her, and the elderly ones simply eye her as she passes. She tells herself she doesn't care, and takes her sword to train while the time permits before she is too heavy to do anything but lay in her bed and hate Maxwell Trevelyan.

She is four and a half months along, and despite the ache in her hips she fights viciously. She trains with men double her size and beats them soundly, without mercy, every time. They attempt words with her, and all she does is beat them all over again. The men learn quickly how to tell her mood, and adjust their behavior accordingly. In the sparring grounds before the arena, she knows her place, and that place is to beat everything that comes at her into the ground. She begins to learn the doublehanded maul as well, out of sheer spite.

Hanar watches, never speaking. She knows that she's a problem for the Hold, that she isn't trusted, but he refuses to let her be ousted. She's overheard the arguments, Hanar's sharp retorts, and refuses to think about them. Let them hate the Lowlander thane's wife, she will endure.

She's just finished pummeling Laur when the alarm horn sounds, and she straightens with a wince. She's barely showing, but the child sits heavy on her.

A few scouts run to Hanar, and she walks to him.

"-armed, and a massive Qunari with them," she catches, and she drops her sword. Hanar looks up sharply, and calls after her as she bolts towards the walls of the Hold.

The Chargers stand at the gates, Bull bearing a thick scar across his face, and missing a further portion of his ring finger. One of the scouts tries to catch her, and she ducks under their hands, bolting into the group and hugging Bull fiercely. He oofs in surprise, gently enfolding her for a moment before carefully peeling her back off of him. The relief of seeing familiar faces almost has her in tears.

"Hi," he says dryly. "Missing us that bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," she said, her voice breaking, and Hanar's voice reaches her ears. She sighs, and Krem touches her arm, his eyes sharp.

"Do we need to run?" he asks, low and serious, and Bull's eye narrows. She looks behind her, seeing Hanar with her sword. 

"My husband," she says flatly. "Hanar. He won't hurt you if I have any say."

"Not what I asked," Krem says, and Grim makes a sharp, hard noise, stepping forward to stand beside him. "Do we need to steal you back? We aren't Inquisition anymore, they can't retaliate against his Royal Asshattiness if we take you."

"I'm with child," she says heavily, and Bull goes rigid, hands curling into fists. "Not like that, Bull, I... It happened on the wedding night. My virtue doesn't need defending, it's gone anyway."

"That's not how it works," Bull says flatly, but forcibly uncurls his fists. Hanar approaches, cautious, and Grim steps forward.

To her surprise, he speaks, the words flowing in the smooth, too-fast cadence of Old Avvar style poetry, and Hanar stops dead, clearly baffled.

"He's Avvar?" She says blankly, and Bull shrugs, just as surprised. 

"It's news to me, too."

Whatever Grim says, the archers on the walls relax, and Hanar walks forward until he's a close, but respectful distance.

"The Iron Bull, Thane Hanar Star-forger Ralgarsen, my husband." Her mouth twists on the word, and she sees Hanar deflate. "Hanar, this is The Iron Bull, and The Chargers, his company."

"You know Cullen," he says, with the air of someone speaking very carefully.

"She was our Commander, so, yes, definitely," Bull says with an easy smile. "We heard she was bartered off by the Inquisitor and came to make sure she wasn't dead or worse. Considering the Inquisitor's judgment, we expected worse, no offense to your Hold." The smile vanishes. "She says she's pregnant by you."

Hanar wisely realizes this is dangerous territory. "It was a surprise," he says quietly, lowering his voice further to keep the closer scouts from hearing. "I am beginning to see the depths of cruelty your Inquisitor is capable of."

"It's not good," Bull agrees, just as quiet. "We have to leave within a week, return to Orlais, but we would like to spend time with our friend. We were told it may be ten years before we get another chance, and we should have some good memories to balance the bad. We can camp out here, or in the forest if we must."

Hanar reaches for her, dropping his hand before it touches her arm. She ignores it, and sees the sharp looks between Skinner and Stitches. "You are clearly family," Hanar says after a moment. "We will host you inside our walls. Perhaps you, at least, will give the Lionheart some true challenge in the arena. She decimates my warriors regularly, to keep them humble."

"I am a warrior first," she says serenely, and Bull chuckles.

"It'd be a genuine pleasure, Thane Hanar."

oOo

They stay up late talking. Hanar is cautious, but hopeful, and for once Cullen invites him to sit by her. She feels safe with the Chargers around, no judging eyes from the Avvar, and he caters to her every want, cuddling with her like an affection starved puppy. She realizes with a pang that he probably is affection starved, at that.

When there's a moment when he goes to fetch a fur for her, Bull leans over, somber. "Are you safe?"

"I am," she says with a nod. "He's kind. A good man. He's trying for me, even though I'm... difficult. It will be a long ten years, but I've endured worse. Kirkwall, for one thing."

Bull sighs, running a hand over his head. "You're set on it, then."

"Yes. Once the ten years are up, if you're still out there and I can still fight, I'll see if I can find work with you," she says. "Though I imagine Krem will be leading by then."

Bull rolls his eye as the others laugh, and Hanar returns with a thick fur, draping it over her.

"Is there anything we could bring you?" Bull asks. "Or find a way to send to you?"

Cullen's heart clenches. "A pendant of Andraste, if you can. I- would you send word of what happened to my family? Mia Rutherford, in Honnleath. Tell her I'm alive, but don't tell her I'm with child. It'll stay here with the Avvar when I go."

Hanar goes still behind her, and quietly presses his face to the back of her shoulder.

Bull and Krem exchange looks. "Cullen," Krem says carefully, "you're having a child."

"I'm aware, believe me," she says dryly.

"You might want to consider how the bonding will affect you," Bull says bluntly. "The Qun is different, they have it down to a science, but this will be your baby, even if they do stay here. It may be difficult."

"I've given up everything in my life," she says, touching her stomach. "Nothing in my life is permanent. Family, friends, homes, it always changes. Better for it to stay here and have a good life with its siblings than come with me to a world it'll never understand."

"Right," Bull says quietly, his eyes shadowed. "I see."

oOo

They leave three days later, early in the morning, but Stitches takes off his pendant to give to her, pressing it into her hand.

"That survived the Fifth Blight," he says, eyes somber. "So did you. You'll make it through, Commander."

"Not your Commander anymore, Stitches," she said, clutching the pendant tightly.

He smiled wryly at her. "We both know that's not true. Mind yourself. We'll try and visit."

She clasped his forearm, thanked Bull, and then they were gone.

She put the necklace on, taking a slow breath, and let life begin again.

Hanar was waiting in their house when she arrived, his eyes tired. "They call you Commander."

"It's what I was." She sits on her bed, and he sits next to her. "I once commanded armies. At the most, six thousand strong. Six holds, more or less, under one banner and I was war chief of it all. The Lion of Skyhold and Honnleath, they called me. I was doing important work, then. Useful things. I trained an army from nothing, fought the Breach, and took on even Samson. And for my work I was set aside for passage through one pass.”

Hanar is silent for a moment before breathing, “It is no wonder you are so angry.” He stares at the opposite wall, his face hard. “I did not understand that you were so powerful. Six holds?”

“Or more,” she says, thinking of banners in the breeze, her horse, the burn of pride. “I advised in the destruction of nations.”

Hanar stands abruptly. “This cannot stay as it is.”

She raises an eyebrow. “What can't?”

“This.” He gestures between them. “You train, you sleep, you do what you must to survive. You do not live unless you are in the arena. You live for the fight. I cannot watch you die a slow death of despair.”

She stares, stunned. “Hanar?”

“Please,” he says, his deep, rich voice cracking. “Please, tell me what I can do to make this easier. To make life not existing, but living. My heart breaks for you each day when I return from the Land of Dreams and see you so tired, so sad. I wish only for your happiness, for my wife to have a home that does not hurt her. I wish you to feel safe, to feel _loved_ despite the hurt you have suffered. I wish to make a family with you, whether with children or Hold or friends, to bring you into our fold. They worry, as well, that you will shatter as the years pass.” He paces, long hair falling from its pinned up bun so the braids fall free. “I spoke to the augur. She says if things do not change, if I cannot make you happy, I may have to fear your death after all. That you may break, may waste away.”

He turns to her, swallowing hard. “Please, Cullen. How can I make this better?”

She stands, going to him. He is huge, less than a foot shorter than Bull and almost as broad. She reaches up to cup his face, watches as he leans into it and closes his eyes. He's scared, and alone as much as she is, she realizes. A wife that bears his child but does not sleep with him, a wife that shares his home and food and ignores him, most days, a wife that some days cannot summon the energy to leave bed as she feels so betrayed- this is the woman that shares his home. He is breaking as well, sadness catching hold of his heart.

This is her husband. _Hers_. For ten years, she owns this man as much as he owns her.

“Would you make us a bed?” she asks, and he jerks, looking at her with wide eyes. There has never been an 'us' from her lips, not to him as anything but scornful. It's her turn to swallow hard. “Ten years is a long time to sleep alone.”

“Yes,” he breathes, the relief evident in his voice. “Yes, I will build one.”

She takes a moment to compose herself before saying, “I do not understand your people. That lack of understanding when everyone knows everything, it hurts. I don't like admitting when I don't know things. Swords, I know. Battle, I know. Andraste, the Maker, the Chant of Light, these things I know. But I know nothing of your people.”

“I will teach you,” he says, hearing the words she cannot say. “I will help you to be happy.”

She steps closer, hesitant, but stands on her tip-toes to kiss him, quick and chaste. He seems dazzled, happiness blooming on his face as he raises one massive hand to his lips.

“I know that I am... less than excellent at sex,” she says, reaching to take his other hand. “Where I have only done it the once. If there are days when you prefer another bed, I- I don't mind.”

“ _I_ mind,” he says firmly. “I am only for your hands, no one else.”

She stares at his chest, feeling her cheeks heat. “Oh. Well.”

There's a pause, and Hanar says, carefully, “Would... would you like to bed me? Learn pleasure in the act?”

Her cheeks are positively on fire. “Perhaps,” she says slowly. “I... well. It was uncomfortable the first time. Not bad, but...well. You aren't exactly small.”

Hanar winces. “My apologies.”

“You can't help it,” she says mildly, and pats his chest. “Together... we will learn.”

oOo

They build the bed, and Cullen finds peace curled up in his arms. The nightmares stay away when she sleeps with him, and mornings are more of a pleasure with a man warm as an oven in her bed.

She learns to make love, to love the span of his hands on her hips, the tenderness of his mouth on her, the careful way he holds her and brings her body warmth and soft, malleable desire. He is tender, far more than she could have ever dreamed, and presses the softest, tiniest kisses to her shoulders to leave tiny bruises. She trains with the men, learns stories, and pets hawks. Some of the women thaw as she grows more cumbersome, and when she is seven months along she finds herself smiling for no reason.

It is entirely strange.

At seven months she is incredibly heavy, and when Inquisition scouts arrive to speak, she pulls on her great red coat, pulls her hair back, and goes back to war.

The scouts are terrified of her the second she walks in and stands beside Hanar. He kisses her hand, and a chair appears for her as if from thin air. She sits, staring at the scouts coldly.

“Commander, the Inquisitor is visiting Stone-bear Hold,” Nessa says first, her eyes fixed on Cullen. “He wishes to know if Cold-drake Hold will welcome him as well. I'll tell him to stuff it if you want.”

There's a murmur around the room, disapproval that Nessa ignored Hanar, but Hanar looks to her as well.

“I take it people aren't happy,” Cullen says mildly.

“We lost a fourth of the army,” Nessa says. Corrigan nods along with her. “Seeker Cassandra is good, but she's not you. And after all your work, to be sent away? It's not right. The Bull left. Sera left. The mustache mage left. We'll honor your wishes, and damn the consequences.”

Cullen smiles, and takes Hanar's hand. “Hanar?”

“He may visit, but he camps outside our walls.” Hanar grips her hand tight, a scowl on his face.

Before Nessa goes, she gives Cullen a thick letter, addressed from her sister, and then she vanishes into the night.

oOo

Max comes, Max goes. Cullen refuses to think about what a disaster it was, and Hanar's soft, still nervous kisses make her fears and pain melt away.

She is incredibly round, heavy with milk and child, and Hanar loves to press his face to her neck and inhale, murmuring about the sweetness of her scent. She thinks he's full of it, and says as much. Life goes on, faster and faster, until suddenly at 9 months Cullen finds herself in a tub of heated water, sobbing in agony after a blessedly, bizarrely short three hour labor manifests her not with one child, but twins. Hanar holds the firstborn, with an expression of complete shock, while the midwife holds the other as Cullen recovers a moment. She had refused any of the Avvar healers- no abominations would be healing her, only elfroot.

“Twins,” Hanar says blankly. “Twins?”

The midwife, an elderly woman who thought that Cullen was a fool for not allowing the shamans in, briskly cleans off the youngest as she starts to fuss. “It is not unusual to not know. They were quiet babes, little kicking or fussing at her, and some women simply grow large.” She gently pats Cullen's arm, and helps her up and into a new tub of blessedly warm water. Cullen takes the youngest into her arms, staring in confusion.

A child.

A girl child, at that, in her arms. 

She has a daughter, and in her husbands arms there is a son.

Hanar sinks onto a stool beside her, and they both stare at the tiny, sleeping bundles.

“They need names,” Cullen says, staring. “Avvar names. Since they'll stay when I go.”

Hanar flinches, and Cullen stares blankly at the children. They are so small, and will still be so little when she leaves. _Her_ children. She created them from her own flesh, with Hanar, with her husband. She cannot leave.

“I can't leave, can I,” she whispers, eyes welling with tears. “I won't be able to. And I'll be here forever.”

Hanar leans into her side, his eyes pained. “Is it so terrible here?”

“This is not my _life_ ,” Cullen says, holding her child close to her chest with a sob. Tears are finally falling, pent up fear and anguish finally breaking her. “They'll never meet my family, I'll never see my siblings again, and I miss my home. I just want them to know _my_ people as well, I don't want them to never see the world. They should see Skyhold, Haven, Redcliffe, Honnleath. They should know all the horrors and beauty that exist outside the Frostbacks, but they won't, and I can't go home.”

Hanar has gone stiff, and Cullen's tears fall onto her babies blanket.

“We will go.”

She freezes, looking up. Her husband, her blacksmith husband, her Thane husband, her husband who does not care to so much as travel to other Holds, is looking at her with a mix of terror and determination.

“What?”

“We will go,” he says firmly. “Half of their lives here, half of their lives there. I will go with you, when you go home, and our children with us. The Hold wishes to learn to trade with the lowlanders. I will go, and we will find a way.” He sounds so determined, for a man who hates to travel more than ten miles. For her, for their children, he would leave the Frostbacks.

Cullen stares at him, and the little boy in his arms, and bursts into tears.

oOo

The girl is named Nowenna Cullensdotten, the boy Gawain Cullensen. Cullen is very unused to matriarchal naming, but is rather pleased by it. Her children bear her name, and are vibrant, happy, warm. The Iron Bull returns at the year mark with Sera in tow, and they and the Chargers spend hours cooing over her babes while the Hold looks on in awe. Precious few are allowed anywhere near Cullen's children.

Sera decides, abruptly, to stay for a year.

“Sorry, what?” Cullen says blankly, and Sera puts her hands on her hips, looking determined.

“War's on, yeah? Coryphetits might've got blasted to smithereens but Orlais eating shit. Handed off the reins til I'm good again. Too much mage shit. Hold's got too much mage shit too, but better here than there, and the littles keep you up. I can watch and you can sleep.”

Cullen hasn't slept in far too long, and collapses on her bed in relief.

Sera, it turns out, is very good with children. The Hold's children are all amazed by her, and clamor for her to teach them archery or alchemy. The people of the Hold are baffled but like her, and Cullen and Hanar claim precious hours of sleep as she handles the tiny children.

She's there for their first birthday, for first words, for when they walk, and after a particularly wild bear attack, is gifted the legendmark of “Flame-wreathed”. And then Sera says she'll stay longer, finds she likes the Avvar, and Cullen is declared War Chief. She and Sera pummel the warriors in the arena, teach them new skills. Her children laugh as they begin to learn, to laugh, to explore. Cullen watches the joy on Hanar's face as he hoists one onto each massive shoulder, laughing, and feels her heart swell. The Hold prospers, she learns to trust their strange mages, and two years in Dagna shows up to train with the mages and winds up marrying Sera.

And then-

And then the war ends, three years in.

Bull and the Chargers show up, with Dorian of all people in tow two years later, and Cullen watches with tears in her eyes as the twins fifth birthday is full of her people. Dorian holds Nowenna, conjuring massive snowflakes for her to giggle over while the Hold augur and some of the warriors laugh with Gawain, and then-

A tap on her shoulder.

She turns.

The scouts are beaming at her, and step aside to reveal Hanar with Mia, Branson, Rose, and her father.

She stares in shock, and then she's in tears, flinging herself into their arms. They're all sobbing clinging to each other, and Cullen shakes as her family surrounds her. Mia is sobbing, her father holds her so tight she may cry, her sister and brother are pressed to her shoulders _and her family is here_. Hanar has brought her family to meet their children.

“Amma?”

Cullen pulls back, wiping the tears from her eyes as Gawain and Nowenna peak around her.

“I have some people I want you to meet,” she says, choked up, and Mia clasps her hands over her mouth as she begins to cry once again.

Hanar smiles at her over their heads, and she knows then that this will work for the rest of their lives, not just the next five years. He comes to her side as the children meet her family, her heart swollen with joy, and she pulls him down to kiss him soft and sweet.

“Hanar,” she says, and he wipes away her tears. “Hanar, I've something very important to tell you.”

“What is it?” he asks, kissing her forehead.

“I love you.”

He pauses, and then it's her turn to kiss the tears from his cheeks as her husband starts to cry with joy. They hold each other, and Cullen feels her heart settle deep in her chest.

She is happy. She is loved. She is content.

She is home.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We are friiiiiieeeeennnnddddsssss, we are friiiiiieeeeennnnddddsssss, we are friends to the bitter eeeeeennnnnndddddd.
> 
> Or, Cullen has severe depression, makes a friend, and meets the holdbeast of Cold-drake Hold.

Hanar’s Lowlander wife is a strange thing, and Arashe thinks her a fool for not recognizing what she has. Her own husband, Amurund, sits in their home and listens to her speak.

“She has no respect for the position of Thane’s wife,” Arashe says, pounding bread rather than kneading it. “She does not touch him, does not comfort or council him! How can she be like this? She is married to a good man and married him willingly, why won’t she become better and become a part of the Hold? I became part of this Hold, she can as well.”

Amurund shifts where he’s sharpening his blade, and sighs. “She is not a woman who expected a husband, and is a Lowlander. Her customs are not our customs.”

Arashe snorts. “They are now. Our customs became her customs when she married.”

“She plans to leave when her marriage is up,” Amurund says, and Arashe pauses, turning. Her husband looks troubled, his mouth a thin line.

“Why?”

“Have you not seen her?” he counters. “She is a sad woman, my love. All she does is fight, and she fights as if she can make the world stop so she can breathe. Fighting is all that she is. She has no basis for being a wife to anyone, never mind a mother. She is a hard, lonely woman, and no one but the warriors will reach out to her to help her adjust. She shuts the warriors down, and fights like she intends to die. She has no friends, because none will take the time to know her.”

Arashe thinks of the celebration of her pregnancy, how she stared into the fire, little more than a corpse propped up. Hanar, she remembers, had stepped away a moment and she had seen him with a hand pressed to his mouth, shaking. There had been no happiness on either face.

“I must see the augur,” she announces, and Amurund nods.

ooo

Manarath is the augur, and Manarath listens to her as she paces. 

“You fear she will kill herself.”

“I do,” she says, turning. “There was a woman from my Hold, taken by force and gotten with child. We received word of her death a month later. I would not have that fate for any.”

Manarath considers, brow furrowed. “If she has decided to die, there may be little that can be done,” he says gently. “It takes a great deal to survive such a change. She is married to a man she does not love, with child by him, and in her eyes trapped in a place she neither knows not likes. Lionheart is her legend-mark, but lions do not thrive while caged.”

“We must do something,” she says, and Manarath considers.

“Perhaps you might introduce her to Hakan.”

ooo

Arashe stands with her hands on her hips, and Cullen seems to shrink back. Her eyes are ringed with dark circles, she seems listless, and despite the swell of her belly her clothes hang on her frame. Arashe’s suspicions are confirmed- she is dying.

“I would like to take you somewhere,” she says firmly.

“If I must,” Cullen says, and her voice is dull. There is little hope left in her. She has already been to training, and Arashe glances about the Thane’s home. There are separate beds, and little on Cullen’s side offers any sort of indication that someone lives there other than armor on a stand.

“I will not force you,” Arashe says, holding her patience firmly. “But I would like you to join me.”

For a moment she sees a spark of hope, before it is shuttered away behind the dullness in Cullen’s eyes.

“I’ll fetch my coat.”

They walk together out the gates, Cullen’s sword belt on her hand on the hilt of her longsword absently as they walk. The air is fresh and clear, and Cullen straightens a little as they leave the Hold walls.

“You seem better, in the open air,” Arashe says softly.

“I’ve spent my whole life in a cage of one kind or another,” Cullen says, looking out at the great hole in the sky. “Kinloch Hold, Kirkwall Circle, even Skyhold. And now I am caged in Cold-drake Hold.”

Arashe starts. “You have been in other Holds?”

“Ancient ones,” Cullen says, her voice far away. “Very, very ancient ones, from when the Alamarri and the Avvar built grand things. Kinloch Hold was a massive tower, sitting out in the water in a circle of sharp rocks. Once, a road led to it, but now it is only reachable by boat. Skyhold is high up in the mountains, a great fortress on a pillar of a mountain.”

“Perhaps,” Arashe ventures, “you would tell us some of what you saw of the building. I would like to know the history of my people.”

Cullen looks at her, and for a moment she sees another flash of hope, of the woman underneath the exhaustion and sadness. “I…I would like that. I read many books on the making of Kinloch.”

Arashe smiles, and Cullen tentatively smiles back. They leave the meadow, and wander deeper into the woods.

“I heard once that your Andraste was Avvar,” Arashe says, the name unfamiliar on her tongue. “And her husband as well. Mafara?”

“Maferath,” Cullen corrects, looking around the woods. “And Andraste was not. She was from the North, Alamarri-ciriane. Maferath ruled most of East Ferelden, and sold her to Tevinter to gain her lands. She ruled Nevarra, the Free Marches, and some of North Ferelden. She claimed some of what is now Tevinter too. She was a powerful leader.”

“So she was like you,” Arashe says. “A tactician.”

Cullen stumbles, eyes going wide, and says nothing.

They reach a clearing, and Arashe whistles.

“Hanar has not taken you yet, and this is a great pity,” she says, shaking her head. “Perhaps he thinks you must be better settled, or would not want to, but it is better you are met and accepted. If this is to be any kind of home for you while you are with us, it is our duty to welcome you and introduce you properly.”

“Introduce me?”

“To Hakan,” she says, as the drake steps out of the woods with a confused trill.

Cullen lets out a strangled noise. “That’s your holdbeast?”

“Yes. Do not worry, he’s very kind.” Arashe smiles at her as Hakan comes forward, and scratches under his chin when he thrusts his head at her. Cullen takes a wary step forward, and Hakan turns to her, tilting his long head. Cullen carefully reaches out her hand, and Hakan butts it gently before stepping forward and gently nosing her stomach. He trills again, and Cullen clearly can’t help a smile as he rests his head on her shoulder, crooning.

“So, he likes me?”

“He is welcoming you,” Arashe says, smiling. “As Thane’s wife, you in particular he will protect. There is no great dragon to serve, so you will be the next closest.”

“Bull is going to be so jealous,” Cullen grins, and Arashe’s heart warms at the change. Cullen wraps her arms around Hakan’s neck, pressing her face to his scales, and Hakan purrs, wrapping his head around her.

“Thank you,” Cullen says into Hakan’s neck. “I needed this.”

Arashe smiles, and decides that she’s going to take Hanar to task for this.

ooo

As they reach the meadow, she says, “Will you join me for dinner?”

Cullen looks utterly shocked, and gives a tentative yes.

And thus the Thane’s wife comes to dinner.

Amurund is surprised when he comes home to find Cullen enthusiastically telling Arashe about golems.

“I’ve only seen them once or twice,” she’s saying, carefully cutting carrots for stew. “But they’re massive, perhaps the size of the Iron Bull at their largest. There was one named Shale where I grew up, owned by a mage named Wilhelm. We came out one day to find that it had killed him and frozen. Last I heard, the Hero of Ferelden woke it up and took it with them. They’re incredible in battle.”

Amurund looks at Arashe askance, and Arashe smiles. They have dinner, Cullen actually smiling, and Hanar arrives just as they finish. Cullen actually smiles at him, and he freezes, his whole face lighting up as she goes to him and takes his hand.

“Did you have a good day?” he asks, and she beams, kissing his cheek.

“Very good. I met Hakan,” she says, and his eyes go wide. “It went very well, I like him a lot.”

Hanar reaches up, and gently brushes a curl out of her face. “I’m glad to hear it.”

She smiles again, and goes back to finish the remains of her dinner, talking animatedly with Amurund about the arena. Hanar pulls Arashe aside, and says with a trembling voice, “ _Thank you_.” He can get no more out, and turns to look at his wife with hope for the first time in months.

Arashe smiles, and fetches Cullen another bowl as Hanar sits at their fire.


End file.
